


First Love/Last Spring

by cuddleefuddlee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Post-Time Skip, and osamu has to deal with him, clownstumu makes an appearance, minor osamu/akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddleefuddlee/pseuds/cuddleefuddlee
Summary: His mind is screaming to deny it, that this isn’t what it looks like, that he’s really fine and this is all a misunderstanding. But each argument dies on his tongue because, in the face of one Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu can’t lie.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 155





	First Love/Last Spring

**Author's Note:**

> the title for this comes from the mitski song first love/last spring if you want even more angst and feels with this fic!

Atsumu can pinpoint the exact moment flowers started blooming in his chest. He could even mark it down to the millisecond if someone asked him to. And he would, even if someone didn’t ask. 

That’s just how much of a masochist he is. 

The Black Jackals played EJP and invited them out after the game; it was Atsumu’s idea which should have been the first clue that it was a terrible idea. And yet they’re all crammed into a booth at the bar they typically frequent, shoulders bumping into each other every few seconds. 

Suna is pressed up against him from shoulder to thigh, body heat radiating into Atsumu’s side as if it’s only natural. They’re close enough that he can count each lash that brushes against Suna’s cheek, can smell the cheap citrus from locker room soap, can feel each rumble of laughter that manages to trickle past tight lips. 

Atsumu feels like he’s in heaven and hell at the same time. 

Meian orders shots for all of them, some foreign liquor that Shouyou mentioned minutes or hours ago. _It’s clear_ , he thinks, _this is bad_. Atsumu can handle his liquor, at least that’s what he tells his friends, but he’d much rather nurse a beer and enjoy a buzz than go buck wild after a few shots like Bokuto. 

But, Atsumu is nothing if not a glutton for punishment and downs the shot. The real trouble is when he glances over to watch the way Suna’s throat is working as he swallows the liquor. 

That’s when the coughing starts. 

Atsumu tries to brush it off, gulps down some water to try and get rid of it, but after a while, he’s still sitting them with that god damn itch in his throat. By now, his teammates are giving him looks like they regret inviting someone who’s obviously sick. 

He only excuses himself when Sakusa starts making a fuss about how it’s Atsumu’s fault if they come down with something. With one hand covering his mouth and the other reaching for the door, he barely makes it outside before he feels something fluttering against his tongue. 

Shit, is that a petal? 

“Hey, you alright?” 

Of course, Suna’s the one to find him with one hand clutching onto the side of the building and the other shoved in his pocket to hide any evidence.

“Yeah, sorry. Just needed some fresh air, ya know?” 

The plush petal burns against his palm like a brand on his skin and Astumu wonders what the hell he’s done to deserve this fate. 

___________________________

Peonies, Atsumu has discovered after hacking pink and white petals up for the past week and shoving them into the face of the closest florist, mean several things. 

First and foremost, romance. Okay, he wasn’t the most romantic guy around but he certainly tried. Even when it came to flings Atsumu would whine and dine — just ask that bartender from the bar down the block from his apartment that Sakusa bet wouldn’t go home with him. All Atsumu had to do was send a selfie of him and the guy to Sakusa the next morning and he’d won 200 yen. 

Next, good fortune. Well, he definitely had that. He _was_ a professional athlete after all. Atsumu considers himself one of fortune's favorites with how well the god has favored him. It only makes sense for the stupid flowers within his lungs would represent that. 

Then, honor. This is a bit of a tricky one. Atsumu knows how many times he’s thrown honor to the wind in favor of something he had wanted in the past. The only time he would consider himself full of honor is on a court and even that was a stretch. Maybe honor represented Suna in some way. He did honor the man for years, holding him on some sort of pedestal during high school without even realizing it. 

After that, compassion. Now, compassion was something he reserved for those he deemed worthy. If he went around showing compassion for every scrub he knew they would think he’s soft and Atsumu can’t have that, now can he. Has he ever shown Suna compassion? Maybe when they were kids? Maybe he should start showing it now? 

And lastly, bashfulness. Atsumu disagrees with this one simply because he’s never been bashful a day in his life. He later confirms this when he asks Osamu about it who replies _u wouldn’t know what that is if u looked it up in the dictionary_. Unhelpful as always. 

He still can’t wrap his mind around why these stupid flowers are blooming within his chest with their pretty petals and their tight vines. It’s absolutely ridiculous and commits to thinking it’s all some nightmare that he’ll wake up from the next day. 

When that doesn’t happen, he manages to convince himself that the simulation theory is, in fact, real and that if he asks nicely enough they’ll give him a new one. 

After three days of asking and receiving stares from his neighbors, he realizes he’s talking to himself and that he’s absolutely fucked. 

___________________________

Atsumu barely gives a cursory glance around the onigiri shop to make sure it’s empty when he walks in. The door is barely shut behind him before he’s bounding over to Osamu behind the counter, clearly busy with the mound of rice in his hands.

“I’m in love.” 

Akaashi, who had gone unnoticed by Atsumu in his initial scan, starts coughing from his spot at the counter. He doesn’t pay much attention to the man sitting down before turning back to his brother, face twisting when he realizes he’s not even looking at him.

How _rude_. Atsumu is his brother, his twin for crying out loud, and he can’t even grace him with so much as a glance in his direction. 

“Do you even know what love is?” 

Atsumu clicks his tongue. “Obviously I know what love is. I’ve watched enough of those dramas with you growing up to know exactly what love is.” 

He pulls a chair out from the bar, sits, and puts his head in his hands as if it’ll solve all of his current problems. Telling the two of them would only make things worse for him — the last thing he needs is his mother to find out from Samu’s big mouth and have her worry about him — so he opts to keep his mouth shut for once. 

A sigh comes from above him and finally, he’s graced with the mirror of his own eyes. Granted, Osamu still looks like he’s got better things to do than deal with his twins' current crisis, but it’s better than nothing. 

“How did you know? How did you know it was this scrub?” He throws a thumb in Akaashi’s direction and plasters a smile on his face when the latter levels him in a glare. 

“He told me he couldn’t live without my onigiri,” Osamu says it so matter of fact that Atsumu can’t tell if he’s being serious. “He came here every day for a week straight saying that I was the better twin before asking me out.” 

Atsumu mulls over the words, choosing to ignore the better twin quip. If Akaashi could waltz right into this shop, admit his feelings for the worst twin, and somehow come out of it with a boyfriend, Atsumu could do the same, right? He could easily take a train to Suna, walk right into the middle of his practice, get down on a knee, and confess to him.

It’s simple really. 

It’s a nightmare come to life if Suna rejects him. 

“Are you gonna tell them?” 

“Maybe. I gotta figure out a way to do it without looking pathetic.” 

“That’s easier said than done for you.” 

___________________________

Atsumu has never liked doctors' offices. The pale yellow walls, the pamphlets with cures for every disease, the smile plastered onto all of the nurse's faces as if he wasn't there because he's dying. No, Atsumu has never liked doctors' offices. 

“Hello, Miya-san,” the doctor, Atsumu racks his brain in an attempt to remember her name, says as she sits down. “As you know, we ran some tests to figure out the cause.” 

“I already know what it is,” Atsumu’s fingers dig into the arm of the chair as he speaks. “Just tell me how bad.” 

Sometimes similar to pity floats across the doctor's face. “The flowers are pretty far along, having already grown not only with your lungs but also your bronchial tubes.” 

Shit. Astumu doesn’t remember much from high school anatomy, but he _does_ remember that he needs those damn tubes in order to breathe. He knows that this is the worst-case scenario and whatever the doctor says next won’t be good. 

“As I’m sure you know, there are two ways of curing the disease. You have the option of telling the other party about your feelings and having them reciprocated or having surgery to remove the flowers and all feelings pertaining to the other person.” 

_Shit_ , this is worse than Atsumu imagined. He knew that the surgery was bad, but he didn’t know it would remove everything he’s ever felt towards Suna. They have too much history, too many memories for him to lay there and allow some doctor to rip all of those feelings away. 

“In my opinion, getting the surgery is a last-ditch effort,” the doctor says. He watches a smile crack across her face and wants to run from the room. “I believe that most cases of Hanahaki can be cured simply by communication and allowing the other party to know your feelings. Have you considered that option?” 

It takes Atsumu one, two, three breathes before he can answer. “How do you suggest going about that?” 

___________________________

“Atsumu-san, are you okay?” 

Atsumu lets out a sigh when he hears Shouyou’s voice next to him. It’s barely a whisper in the empty locker room but it’s the loudest thing he hears. 

On the best of days, he’s been able to hide his symptoms. Atsumu has become a master at applying concealer to the bags under his eyes and washing down the tickle in his throat with whatever is in his sports bottle. It’s fine, _he’s_ fine. He can handle the flori that’s blooming within him for the sake of his team because they’re more important than his silly little feelings that he can’t seem to get under control sometimes. 

On the worst of days, Atsumu takes the team down with him. His sets are less than spectacular and because of that he lashes out at the rest of the team, needs both Shouyou and Bokuto to hold him back from ripping someone's throat out. He knows he’s being ridiculous, knows he’s acting like a child throwing a tantrum all because his crush doesn’t like him back but he doesn’t care. 

It’s been three months since he’s seen that doctor and he still hasn’t talked to Suna. 

“Yeah, Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu tries his best at a smile. “I just haven’t been sleeping that great.” 

Atsumu can see a range of emotions cross his face; concern, curiosity, anxiety. He wonders when Shouyou became so good at reading him without him noticing. 

“You would tell me though, right? We’re friends.” 

“Of course, Shouyou-kun. Don’t worry about me.” 

Another attempt to smile ends up more like a grimace than anything. How pathetic is it that he can’t even hold it together in front of Shouyou? 

He makes a note to leave the locker room sooner rather than later for the rest of the season.

___________________________

_hey._

It’s really a simple text, a single word that shouldn’t cause the tickle in Atsumu’s throat to worsen. He hasn’t spoken to Suna in weeks, too afraid that he’ll spill every thought about him that floats through the blondes mind. 

_Date me! I love you! I’m sorry for being an idiot but I can’t stop thinking about how my life would be if you were here!_ They’re all things he should type out instead of staring at the empty message box that’s blinking back at him. 

Instead, he makes a cowards retreat, opening the message and leaving the other to see that it was read and had gone unanswered — just like the last five messages from the other man. 

They’ve barely spoken to each other in the last few months because Atsumu is a coward and knows that he’s one. 

___________________________

  
  


“Well, this is a surprise,” Sunas voice crackles over the speaker.

It’s late, Atsumu thinks, probably too late for him to come with some half-baked excuse that Suna would believe. The street signs from across his apartment are the only source of light in his apartment, allowing the shadows to mock him as they float across the room. 

“Yeah, sorry. I just— I don’t know. I can just call tomorrow or —”

“No, it’s fine.” For a split second Atsumu allows himself to believe that Suna sounds just as desperate as he feels. “I was surprised by it is all. It’s been a while.” 

Atsumu doesn’t even know why he bothered Suna at that hour. His finger hovered over the call button for a good fifteen minutes before he convinced himself that Suna was too busy or asleep and wouldn’t answer the call and pressed the damn screen. 

Honestly, he’s only killing himself at this point. 

“How are ya out here?” He tries to keep his tone light, nonchalant like he isn’t about to break down from such a simple question. Does he have any right to ask that? Absolutely not. Does he regret asking it immediately after the words leave his mouth? Absolutely. 

“I’ve been alright.” It’s clipped, Atsumu notices. A sentence broken off before certain words can ruin the whole conversation. “How’s Osaka?” 

Just like clockwork, petals start to flutter in his throat. He knew it would happen, but was hoping he would be able to last more than a few minutes. God, when did he become so pathetic all because of some feelings? 

“Shit, sorry Rin—” Atsumu tries to hide his coughing fit in his arm. “I think I’m coming down with something. I gotta go.” 

“Oh, yeah.” If Atsumu wasn’t more concerned about the blood and flowers that were working their way to the surface he might have heard the disappointment in Suna’s voice. “Stop ignoring me or I’ll start saying Osamu is the better twin.” 

“I promise. I just—” Another coughing fit. “I’ll text you tomorrow.” He hangs up before he can hear another word on the other side of the phone and rushes to the bathroom. 

That night Atsumu coughs up so many petals that he wakes up the next morning on the bathroom floor, asking himself why he’s such a fool.

___________________________

They’re in the same bar, the same booth even, with the same people just like it was a year ago. The irony of it all makes Atsumu curse the gods for making him live through this night all over again like some sick sort of purgatory. He thinks back to the last few months to figure out which bad deed caused him to be stuck next to Suna in the corner and when he comes up with nothing, downs the shot that was placed in front of him only moments before. 

He’s dying anyway, might as well have fun on his way out. 

From his left Suna gives him a worried glance, asking a question without voicing it. Atsumu tries to ignore it, more concentrated on annoying Shouyou into doing another shot with him. He knows he’s acting shady but couldn’t care less. He just needs to forget where he is and who he’s with for a few moments. 

It’s no good, not when Suna is pressed so close to Atsumu that he can feel every breath he takes. Every time he shifts closer to Atsumu, the tickle in his throat gets worse and sooner rather than later, he has to excuse himself so he can cough into the toilet is the cramped single restroom for twenty minutes. 

_Pathetic._

This was all a bad idea to begin with, Atsumu isn’t sure who to blame for the outing this time though. Was it his idea or Bokutos? Atsumu realizes he doesn’t care as he’s pushing himself up from the floor and through the hallway to the front door. He needs fresh air and needs to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. 

He needs to schedule that fucking operation if he plans on living past next month. 

He needs to tell Suna if he plans on living into next year. 

The cool air helps, but not as much as Atsumu would like; he’s still dry heaving and can feel petals fluttering up his throat. How fucking dumb is he to think that some alcohol and fresh air could save him from spiraling even further. 

He’s barely outside when the coughing starts and doesn’t stop, flooding the street in front of him as he collapses to the ground. This is bad, even Atsumu realizes that when the normal tickle of petals against his tongue is overwhelmed by the taste of iron. 

It only gets worse when someone comes looking for him, fingers just barely grazing his back. 

“Atsumu,” Suna calls out to him, worry evident in the syllables. “What’s wrong? 

Atsumu doesn’t bother trying to hide the petals this time, unable to stop them even if he wanted to. He lets them burn his throat, his tongue, the taste of iron making him gag every few seconds. It’s rather poetic to him, having Suna be the one who watches the petals fall from his mouth and onto the sidewalk. 

The last thing he sees are pink and white petals stained with red while someone's hands grab onto him, yelling for an ambulance. 

___________________________

“Everyday I regret not eating you in the womb.” Osamu’s voice is the last thing he wants to hear as he wakes and he wondered which god he pissed off enough to have it be the first. “Every damn day.” 

There’s something heavy on his chest that makes him want to melt into the bed beneath him but thinks better of it. “What are ya doing here, Samu?” 

“You’re dying, that’s what I’m doing here. Who is it?” Silence envelopes both of them in response. “Who is it, Tsumu?” 

“Does it really matter who it is?” 

For the first time since he’s woken up, Atsumu takes in the room around him; the beeping on the monitors, the white of the walls around him, the too strong scent of disinfectant. If he’d forgotten what had happened the last twelve hours he might’ve been surprised to find himself in a hospital room. 

“Yeah, it does. Now tell me who it is. Is it Shouyou? Because I _swear_ if it’s him—” 

“It’s not Shouyou.”

“Then who the hell is it?” 

“It’s Rin, alright?” Exhaustion seeping into every word that leaves his mouth. “It’s god damn Rin.”

There’s something about revealing his deepest secret that feels almost freeing. For just a moment, Atsumu feels better than he has in hours, weeks, _months_. In that moment, he can feel the muscles in his chest relax and he can actually breathe without having to worry about the tickling in his throat. For a few seconds, he allows himself to smile. 

But, it’s short-lived when Osamu is watching him from the chair next to the bed with an expression that reminds Atsumu of a younger version of himself, one that was stubborn and filled with anger because of something that could have been prevented. 

He has to look away, has to escape the eyes that mirror his own. 

“How long has it been?” 

“I—” 

“You said you were going to stop being a coward and tell whoever it was months ago, Atsumu,” he grits through his teeth. “Now look at you. You almost _died_.” 

“I’m quite aware of that,” Atsumu bites back. “I’m laying in the damn hospital bed with wires and shit attached to me.” He doesn’t bother denying his brother's first statement. Lying to him about it would take too much energy that he doesn’t have right now. Besides, he already knows how much of a coward he is. 

Instead, he closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

When he starts floating back to the room around him it’s because another, familiar voice is surrounding him. 

“Suna, I don’t think—”

His first thought is, why the hell is Suna there? Quickly followed by, of course Suna shows up when Atsumu looks like death warmed up and his only outfit is an unflattering hospital gown. It’s not fair because he knows, Atsumu _knows_ that Suna looks just as great as he normally does. 

He curses the gods again because this isn’t how he wanted to go out. 

It takes every instinct for Atsumu to keep his damn eyes shut and pretend like he’s not listening in on them. 

“I don’t care what you think. Are you going to hog the chair or let someone else sit in it?”

“This is a bad idea,” Osamu’s speaking this time. “He’s not in good shape.” 

“I saw everything last night. I know that.” 

It’s silent for a few moments before someone sighs and footsteps head for the door, letting it click shut behind them. Another beat before the chair scrapes against the tiles, squeaking as someone settles into it. 

“You can stop pretending to sleep now,” Suna says. “He left.” 

A part of Atsumu wants to be defiant, wants to pretend that he didn’t hear Suna speak and like he has no clue that he’s even there. Another, bigger part of him wins and he cracks his eyes open, head turning and — 

_Oh_. 

Even in his clothes from last night and with bags under eyes, Suna looks ethereal. Maybe it’s whatever pain killer they have him thinking that, but Atsumu has to admit that he looks good. It makes Atsumu want to kiss him. 

It’s especially not fair that he manages to look this good while cramped into a spare chair in a hospital room, one leg tucked under him like he isn’t the reason Atsumus whole world is tilting on its axis. 

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” 

The words take Atsumu by surprise which evidently shows on his face when the corners of Suna’s mouth quirk upwards. Long fingers reach forward, playing with Atsumu’s fingertips before dipping into his palm to trace the lines on it. 

He makes sure to stare at their fingers instead of those beautiful, prying eyes. Just one spare glance at them and he knows he’s done for. 

“For a while, I thought I did something to make you ignore me,” Suna murmurs. “Turns out it was you overthinking yourself to death.”

Atsumu scoffs, looking away before landing on the other's face. “That isn’t what happened.” 

“Oh?” Suna raises a brow, a corner of his mouth quirking even higher. “What do you call all of this?” 

His mind is screaming to deny it, that this isn’t what it looks like, that he’s really fine and this is all a misunderstanding. But each argument dies on his tongue because, in the face of one Suna Rintarou, Miya Atsumu can’t lie. He will, instead, delay the inevitable.

“What do you want me to say, Rin?”

“The truth would be nice.” 

He gives Suna a withering glance before looking back down at their hands. They’re entwined now, fingers laced together like they were made to fill the gaps between them. 

This isn’t fair, this sick game that Suna doesn’t realize he’s playing with Atsumu’s heart. Doesn’t he realize just how far Atsumu has fallen down this rabbit hole? Doesn’t he realize that Atsumu is so far gone that he’s made a fool of himself over the last year? 

“You’re an idiot,” Suna says before Atsumu can even think of an answer to his first statement. “You really thought you were alone in this and look at what happened.” 

The fingers around Atsumu’s hand wrap tighter as if Atsumu would disappear like smoke at any given moment. 

“I figured out how you felt a while ago and assumed you would tell me when you were ready,” Suna’s voice is soft, delicate, like he’s afraid the wrong word might slip out and ruin everything. “I didn’t want to project my own feelings onto you if they weren’t the same and lose you.”

Atsumu blinks a few times, attempting to wrap his mind around what Suna said. He blinks a few more times before he notices the look on Suna’s face; the bastard looks like the cat that got the canary. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Suna mumbles against their knuckles. “Your jock brain isn’t going into overdrive is it?” 

“Just— just give me a minute.” 

If Suna was saying what Atsumu thought he was saying, that meant his feelings were reciprocated. Never in any of his daydream confessions was this situation playing out right now. Not once did he picture himself laying in a hospital bed with Suna confessing to him after a year of pining. 

He’s half-convinced this is some elaborate prank and Osamu is going to jump out and yell ‘Gotcha!’ at some point. Instead, Suna just looks up at him with something he can only label as adoration in his eyes as Atsumu’s single brain cell goes into overdrive trying to wrap itself around Suna Rintarou saying he loves Atsumu. 

“Do you mean it?” The words come out awkward and messy, jumbled together in a frenzy to say something to fill the silence that’s fallen between them. 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean, idiot.” 

The jab is something so small and dumb that it brings a smile to his face; a genuine smile for the first time in months that doesn’t hurt the muscles in his face from pretending. 

“Come here. Let me kiss ya.” 

___________________________

Atsumu isn’t sure when he stopped telling time by the number of petals that fell from his lips and instead by the smiles he’s lucky enough to have shown up at his apartment every other week. Being apart more often than not isn’t optimal, but he’ll take what he can get. 

The scent of coffee is what wakes Atsumu that morning. When he cracks an eye open, the spot next to him is empty, filled by only rumpled gray sheets instead of the warm body Atsumu has become accustomed to seeing. 

The first thing his eyes land on is the bouquet of peonies on the kitchen counter instead of Suna’s face. He stares at them for a few moments before looking over at Suna, smirk hidden behind his hair. 

_That bastard._

“I should break up with ya right now for getting those,” Atsumu mumbles but there’s no heat behind the words. Instead he buries his face in the crook of Suna’s neck, a hand wrapping around his waist. “It’s been a year already.” 

“Aran texted the group chat to wish us congrats. Him and Kita sent a gift as well.”

“Please tell me they didn’t send more flowers,” Atsumu whines. “I know Kita isn’t an insensitive bastard but I wouldn’t put it past Aran just to mess with us.”

Suna twists in his arms, a lazy smile on his face like he hasn’t a care in the world. Atsumu commits it to memory, makes note of the way green eyes bore into him like he's a god worthy of devotion. 

It goes unspoken between the two of them. 

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> whew, well that was a ride! this is my first hq fic and i hope you all enjoyed it. come yell at me on twt, @sunasimps!


End file.
